


Chasing The Sun

by Sir_Bedevere



Series: Brave [2]
Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coda, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29611497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: Fill up your lungs and just run/We'll always be chasing the sun.It's another Friday, a year or so later.These days it's just Ted and Patrick, and they have all the time in the world.
Relationships: Pat Butcher/The Captain (Ghosts TV 2019)
Series: Brave [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175543
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	Chasing The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, Brave needed a spicy epilogue. It just did. This is NSFW so if you're a minor, you know what to do, okay? Make good choices.

_**You said, remember that life is not meant to be wasted,  
We can always be chasing the sun.  
So fill up your lungs and just run,  
We'll always be chasing the sun.  
\- Sara Bareilles – Chasing The Sun -** _

_One year later. Another Friday._

Scout sighed and flopped down under the desk, nudging Ted with her nose. He stroked her head absently with his foot, humming under his breath. She sighed again, more loudly. 

“He’ll be home soon and then we can go,” Ted said, shuffling through the printouts and stacking them into three neat piles. It was time to sign off for the weekend; Humphrey had already called him and told him to get off the emails if he knew what was good for him. It was all very well for Humphrey to say that, but he wasn’t the one who had to make sure Thomas and Katherine had everything they needed to set up first thing Monday morning. 

Still, Ted thought he was probably just about finished, and when the front door opened a few minutes later, he knew he definitely was. Scout obviously agreed; she leapt to her feet and rushed downstairs, clattering so heavily on the wooden floor that you’d be forgiven for thinking she was a small elephant rather than a Golden Retriever. Ted followed more slowly; he’d been sitting down too long, and his knee was stiff. The chilly winter weather didn’t help much either.

Patrick was on his knees at the bottom of the stairs, making a fuss of the dog. Scout loved it, of course, rolling over and letting him rub her belly. She was a fickle animal; Ted was good enough company during the day, but the minute Patrick came home it was clear where her loyalties really lay. Not that Ted could blame her. He’d prefer Patrick over himself anytime as well. 

“Hiya,” Patrick grinned as Ted reached the bottom stair. “Sorry I’m a bit late, Barclay was worried about the launch and I had to tell him –”

“It’s fine,” Ted said. He reached down and offered his hand, pulling Patrick to his feet. And close enough for a kiss. Naturally. 

“Been thinking about this all day,” Patrick said, as Ted took a gentle hold of his chin and kissed him, a warm peck. 

“Really?” Ted murmured against his lips, a small smile on his face. “Why?”

“Just have,” Patrick grinned. Ted knew that grin. That grin usually meant good things. Even now, a year after making the mad, drastic decision to follow Patrick to Leeds, to throw himself into a whole new life and a whole new lifestyle, Patrick just had to look at him like that and Ted could feel his legs threaten to turn to jelly. 

“Anyway,” Patrick chirped, pulling away before Ted could get an arm around him. “Let’s get madam out for her walk, shall we?”

He took Ted’s coat down from the peg by the door and held it so he could put it on. His hands ran up Ted’s back and settled the coat on his shoulders – a familiar and soothing gesture. Once upon a time, Ted had agonised over something like that, the brief touch of his best friend’s hands. Now it just made him feel warm. Loved. 

Patrick snapped Scout’s lead onto her collar and opened the front door. She bounded out, joyful and entirely unperturbed by the cold of the winter’s evening. Ted picked up his crutch, locked the door and followed them down the path, smiling as Patrick talked to the dog as though she could understand a word that he was saying. 

“Just a quick one today, sweetheart. You know Cap can’t be in the cold too long.”

Ted rolled his eyes indulgently. _Cap._ It was ridiculous. It bordered on ludicrous. The first time Patrick had called him thus for the benefit of the dog, he’d almost had a fit. _Cap._ But Patrick was unperturbed, as he so often was by what he thought were Ted’s shortcomings, and he persevered. Then Daley, on one of his visits, asked if he could call him Cap too and Ted understood all at once why Patrick was referring to him like that. Daley was, according to Carol, holding out stubbornly at his new home in Wales. He wouldn’t call Carol’s new husband anything except Morris – even when the blasphemous use of ‘dad’ had been floated with him. But Ted, almost immediately, was granted his own special nickname. Only it wasn’t one that would confuse Daley, or make Patrick feel as though he was being ousted. Only Patrick had ever called him Cap, and he’d passed it on to Daley because it was special. It was theirs alone, something just for the three of them and the dog. 

“I’m perfectly alright to walk as far as Scout would like,” Ted said, catching up with them and taking Patrick’s hand. “It’s only a bit of cold.”

“Well, maybe _I_ don’t want to be out too long,” Patrick said, squeezing his hand meaningfully. Ted blushed. 

“Good Lord, Patrick. It’s barely 7 o’clock.”

Patrick just laughed. Of course. 

In the end, they walked the perimeter of the small park three roads over, talking over the day that they’d had. Ted hadn’t been sure that working from home would be a good fit for him; if he was left alone with his thoughts for too long, he had a bad habit of sinking back into himself, into the old ways of shutting himself off. But Humphrey had been happy for him to try, on the understanding that he’d go to London when he was needed and, in the end, it had worked out perfectly well. Patrick suggested they get the dog so that Ted wasn’t on his own all day, and they’d found a balance that worked for them. 

And Patrick was happy too, thriving in his new role. He loved his new friends and colleagues, as Ted always knew he would. He loved his new job, and the new challenges. He loved living in Leeds, near to his mum and his brother. He’d even grown to love his new life with Daley, having the little boy to stay every month and every holiday, or going to camp with him in Wales just because he could. And, Ted knew, Patrick loved what the two of them shared together. He knew because Patrick told him every day, and he showed him very often and very thoroughly too. 

This was life. Walking in the park together, hand in hand, strolling at Ted’s pace. Watching the dog lollop along. Talking about work they loved. Thinking about the weekend, and the next weekend, and the next one when Daley would be coming to stay for the half term. This was a life Ted had never imagined for himself. And it was his. Sometimes, he still couldn’t quite believe it. So many years of denial. So many years of believing that he didn’t deserve something like this, and then believing that he’d never have it with Patrick, the only man he was sure that he’d loved. The man that Ted had been, the one who almost fell apart on the day he thought he’d lose Patrick, felt very far away. 

“Let’s get fish and chips for tea,” Patrick said, as they left the park. The streetlights cast a warm glow on his face, and he leaned his head on Ted’s shoulder. “I can’t be arsed to cook.”

One of the true joys of living in the north, Ted had been quick to discover, was the quality of the fish and chips. He didn’t ever need to be persuaded. Patrick waited outside the shop with Scout while Ted picked up their usual order; a large chips, two bits of cod. Mushy peas and curry sauce. He’d never even contemplated curry sauce till he lived with Patrick, and now it was a must have. Funny how it went.

Back at home, Patrick poured them both a glass of wine and switched on the radio. It played quietly in the background as they ate, Scout asleep at their feet. At some point, Patrick reached across the table and took Ted’s hand, his socked foot rubbing gently up and down Ted’s shin underneath the table. Ted caught his eye, but didn’t mention it. They’d eat and talk a bit longer. Patrick would make eyes at him and he’d pretend he didn’t see, just because it made the anticipation sweeter. When they were ready, they’d go upstairs to their bedroom, and not a moment before. There was no hurry now. 

There was just Ted and Patrick, and they had all the time in the world. 

“What time does Humphrey want you there on Monday?” Patrick asked when they’d finished, standing up to clear away the greasy papers. “Not too early, I hope.”

“No, Thomas and Katherine are setting up first thing,” Ted yawned. “I can catch the eight o’clock train. The half past, even.”

“Good,” Patrick said. He upped the volume on the radio. Cyndi Lauper filled the kitchen. Ted watched as Patrick came back to his side. Sitting like this, he was at a perfect height for Patrick to lean down and take his face in his hands, fit their mouths together. He tasted of the fish, and the earthy wine that had stained his lips red, and Ted put his arms around him, pulling him down to sit on his lap. 

“Your knee,” Patrick breathed, half a laugh and half something else. 

“Bugger the knee,” Ted muttered, capturing him once more in a kiss. His pulled at Patrick’s shirt, loosened it from his trousers, crept his hands up the warm skin of his back. Patrick shivered and bit at Ted’s lip, soothing it with his tongue and then biting him again, more insistently. 

“Keep that up and it will be a short evening,” Ted grumbled, pulling his mouth away to kiss instead at Patrick’s neck, grazing over the stubble of a long day. His hands slid back down to Patrick’s waist, held tight to the soft skin and gentle rolls of fat that gathered there. It had been a surprise to Ted to find out that Patrick was ashamed of his body, that the jokes he used to make about taking up room weren’t actually jokes at all. It was a surprise because Patrick always seemed so confident, and because Ted happened to think he was the most handsome, beautiful person he’d ever known. So now he tried to remind him, always, that he loved every single thing about him. Every inch. Inside _and_ out. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Patrick murmured. “Now.”

Scout seemed settled in, well asleep under the table, and one of them could always come down to let her out later. Right now, there didn’t seem anything much more important than getting upstairs. Patrick, dishevelled and glowing from head to toe, led the way. Ted hooked a finger in his belt loop, a point of contact that he didn’t want to lose, and followed him up.

Their bedroom was warm. The house was old and they’d chosen the room with the fireplace for their own. During the winter months, Ted had been in the habit of tending the fire, trying to keep it from burning too low, and he was never more grateful for that foresight on evenings like this. 

As soon as the door closed, Patrick was on him.

“Jumper off,” he said, already halfway through pulling it over Ted’s head. “Shirt.”

Patrick was on a mission, and Ted wasn’t going to stop him. He knew perfectly well the utter joy that came from being the sole focus of Patrick’s thorough and loving attention. So, he allowed his shirt to be unbuttoned, his belt to be unbuckled, and his trousers opened. His own hands he kept busy beneath Patrick’s shirt once more, skating up and down his back, working his fingers into his shoulder muscles. 

When he was in his boxers, even his t-shirt tossed unceremoniously into a pile at his feet, Ted stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed. His damn knee really was aching. Patrick shrugged off his own shirt and came to stand between Ted’s legs, brushing at his hair with gentle fingers, mussing it up. Ted undid Patrick’s belt, popped open the button on his jeans, but then he stopped and buried his face in Patrick’s chest hair, his hands at his waist. 

“Give over,” Patrick giggled, as Ted moved his nose from side to side. “That tickles.”

“Don’t want to,” Ted said petulantly, and did it again, holding Patrick to him so that he couldn’t wiggle free. 

“You’re daft,” Patrick said, and kissed the top of his head. Then he then leaned forwards and tipped Ted over backwards onto the bed, crashing down on the mattress with him. 

“Are you trying to wind me?” Ted asked. “I’m an old man, you know.”

“Naff off, you wazzock,” Patrick said, wriggling out of his jeans, and plastering himself to Ted’s side. “If you’re old, so am I.”

Ted opened his mouth to answer that two years age difference meant a lot when one had creaky knees and grey hair, except at that moment Patrick’s hand slid down his waist and into his boxers, and his protest died. He groaned instead, a rumble low in his throat, as Patrick took him in hand, gave him a slow squeeze. Then another, as their mouths found one another once more. Patrick settled into a steady, slow rhythm, with tongue and hand, and Ted felt as though all the breath was being pressed out of him. His own hand moved at random, touching any part of Patrick that he could; soft curves, hard muscle, warm skin. He found the scar on his back from the archery accident he had as a teenager, smooth with age. His fingers played over it, and Patrick’s hand kept up that excruciating pace until Ted had to grab at his wrist. 

“You too, Pat,” he said, breathless, kissing Patricks’ knuckles. “Come here.”

Somehow, in the time it took for Patrick to kneel between his legs, he’d lost his boxers, and he reached out to help Ted shed his too. Much better. Nothing between them, just how it should be. Patrick settled down over him, half balanced on his elbows, the rest of his soothing weight holding Ted together, lest he fly apart. 

“Kiss me again, Teddy,” Patrick pleaded, as he began to move, pressing their bodies together. A delicious friction, building slowly. It had been like this the first time. Ted had never known it could be so simple and so good; just pressure and friction, hot touches and hotter kisses. It was still his favourite way to be with Patrick, too close to even get a hand between them.

“Pat,” he whispered. Patrick groaned and put his forehead to Ted’s collarbone. Ted could feel the muscles of Patrick’s stomach tightening, could feel the hard pressure between them, his own climax building, and he closed his eyes, threading his hands in Patrick’s hair. 

“I love you, Pat,” he said, and Patrick tipped over the edge with a satisfied gasp. He didn’t stop moving, save to slip his hand down and touch Ted one more time. It was enough, and Ted let himself go, safe in Patrick’s embrace, a rumble low in his throat. 

“I love you too.” Patrick said, rolling to the side and gathering him into his arms. “So much.”

They lay together, catching their breath, Ted’s fingers playing over the fine hair on Patrick’s arm. Eventually Ted shivered, and Patrick sat up. He took the box of tissues from the bedside table, pulled out a careless handful. He spat on them and wiped himself down. Ted reached out for the box, but Patrick batted his hand away and did the job himself, cleaning Ted’s twitching stomach and his thighs. Ted watched him through half closed eyes, marvelled at how tenderly Patrick touched him, how this was just as important to him as what had come before. When Patrick was finished, he reached down to pull the duvet over them, dropping a kiss on Ted’s knee as he came back up.

“We didn’t let the dog out,” Patrick murmured, breaking the comfortable silence, as he settled back down with his face pressed into Ted’s shoulder.

“I’m sure she’ll come and remind us,” Ted yawned. “Just a few more minutes. Like this.”

Patrick’s reply was the smallest of snores, rumbling in his chest. 

Ted chuckled, and closed his eyes. 

There were always a few more minutes these days.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an end to my contributions to PatCap Valentine's Week. Thank u, Quill, for giving me a reason to neglect literally everything I need to do in order to write fic.


End file.
